Free Shatter My Rock by Greta Nelsen

the appropriate way to dispose of
narcotics, I know, but the trash is too dangerous; I could always go back and
dig. Now the only risk is to the fish—and the water supply.
    The
simple act of depressing that handle sets me free, begins my head to clear. Now
I must check on Owen—and Ally, the girl whose place has been stolen by midnight
feedings and battles with Eric Blair.
    I
settle on the edge of her bed, careful not to stir her. “You’re still my baby,”
I whisper, hoping she knows without hearing. I brush a tangle of hair from her
cheek. “I haven’t forgotten.”
    My
back is to the door, so I don’t see Tim when he enters. But I’m sure I hear Owen
gurgle. “Everything okay?” Tim asks as he materializes beside me, the baby
cradled to his chest.
    I
nod. “You guys?”
    “Never
better.” He smiles, flush with contentment.
    I
grasp his hand and squeeze, smile back. “Good.”
    ----
    “A
man came to school today,” Ally tells me nonchalantly as we buzz through the
mall, Owen’s jogging stroller pointing the way. There is a party for Tim’s
parents’ fiftieth anniversary in two days, and I’ve been tapped to head the
decorating committee.
    “Oh?”
I say, already tuning out what she might utter next. The fact that I lack a
list has my mind swimming with rainbow-colored streamers and golden balloons.
    “He
said he knows you,” Ally states, sounding uncertain, “and Owen.”
    These
words take a few seconds to register, and when they do, they stump me. “Huh?”
There is no one at Ally’s school with whom I am familiar on a personal level
and certainly no one who is familiar with Owen.
    She
shrugs. “He has really white teeth,” she says, as if this may spur my memory,
“and a tan.”
    A
Rolodex of faces flies through my mind’s eye, bumps to a stop on the sole image
to match Ally’s description: Eric Blair.
    In
the midst of a jumble of post-Christmas shoppers, I halt dead. “Where did he…?”
I try to ask. “What…?” But Ally is gone. I sprint ahead and latch on to her
hand, almost taking out a nun in the process. “Sorry,” I mutter to excuse the
close call. But I don’t bother following up on the nun’s wellbeing, certain I
have already earned enough negative credits to qualify for a one-way trip to
the scorched beyond.
    The
perplexed look on Ally’s face turns to concern and even fear as I tug her to a
vacant bench. “Tell me everything,” I demand. “What did he say?”
    Ally
regrets having shared this tidbit, it is clear. “Nothing,” she says. “He was
nice. He asked about school.”
    “And?”
    “He
said we could be friends, that I could call him Uncle Rick.”
    I
wonder if she has misheard. “Eric?”
    She
shakes her head. “No, Rick.”
    I
don’t want to upset her any more than I already have, but I must ask, “Did he
hurt you?”
    She
wrinkles her face as if I’m the one who is confused. “No.”
    Owen
lets out a happy squeal, and all at once, my pulse steadies. “You know what
Daddy and I say about strangers, don’t you?”
    Ally
is too old for this lecture, and she knows it. “Yeah,” she says with a sigh.
    “If
you see him again, tell a teacher,” I instruct. But I’m sure it won’t come to
this. It’s clear that I have made a mistake by not confronting Eric before now,
an error I intend to correct, post-haste.
    ----
    I
lay in wait at the far end of the lot, where Eric parks his canary-yellow
Corvette in hopes of avoiding the incidental nicks and scratches of carelessly
flung doors nearby.
    He
pulls in beside me as if we have arranged to meet like this, and when I hop out
and block his path, he smiles. “Claire-bear.”
    “Shut
up,” I growl, “and listen.” I set my shoulders, lengthen my spine. “You’re done
fucking with me.”
    He
should be surprised by the imperative nature of what I say and the gruffness
with which I say it, but instead he appears pleased and even entertained.
    I
threaten, “If you want to spend the next ten years